Rachel takes one for the team
by Nova802
Summary: As it turns out, Rachel will do just about anything to win Nationals.  Especially if it's something she already wants to do.  Puckleberry with a strong side of Kurt/Rachel friendship.  M for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Thanks to all of you for the encouragement. I hope you enjoy.**

* * *

"Rachel, do you remember when you said you'd do anything short of nudity or animal cruelty to win Nationals?"

Rachel looks at Kurt cautiously. "Yesss...," she draws out, temporizing.

Kurt smiles brightly, pats her hand. "Well, this is going to require nudity."

Her jaw drops and for perhaps the first time in her life, she's too dumbfounded to say anything. (Later, she's going to regret that.)

* * *

The two of them are in the very back row of the auditorium, conducting their bi-weekly Glee Leadership Advisory Meeting (GLAM: Kurt came up with the acronym), and really, she should have known something was up from the second that he showed up with her favorite soy-infused chai latte. It's not that they don't get along; for the most part, they do. Even given their rocky history, she considers him a friend, albeit one who is _ridiculously_ quick to criticize her wardrobe. Truthfully, now that they are reaching the end of senior year, his barbs have lost a lot of bite, and honestly, she can't imagine a better co-captain.

She certainly doesn't want to be critical of her ex-boyfriend. Finn is a lovely person. And when the musical adaptation of her life is inevitably staged, it might make a more compelling dramatic narrative for her boyishly charming male lead to continue on as her partner-after all, she's living proof that people are susceptible to that trope. Unfortunately, in terms of co-captaincy, Finn lacks the willingness to do what it takes, even to be disliked if necessary, that truly effective leadership requires. (When he volunteers to step down, she thinks they're both relieved, which is sort of par for the course. Their semi-awkward break-up just provides them both with an excuse.)

Kurt on the other hand? He's an iron fist in a velvet glove and she absolutely respects that. Which is why she will give him the courtesy of her full attention, even as she has serious misgivings about the turn this conversation is taking.

"Kurt," she hisses in an undertone, unwilling to disturb the rehearsal currently in progress on stage, "I think I've made it quite clear that as much as I admire _Gypsy_ and while burlesque may be back, stripping, even tastefully behind screens, is not..."

He waves this away. "No, no. You were absolutely right. Overdone. Cliche almost."

_Overdone? Cliche?_ Since he had argued the exact opposite point only three days ago, Rachel isn't buying it.

"No, no, this is much more serious than your lack of vision," Kurt continues, ignoring her outraged squeak. "This has to do with our resident bad-boy baritone." He gestures across the rows of seat to the stage where a group of musicians are arranged to one side. Noah stands at center stage, hands cradling his guitar, adjusting the tuning pegs. He trades a few comments back and forth with Brad and then as the music starts, he stares out into the empty seats of the auditorium with the slightest hint of a frown on his face.

"He _has_ seemed a little out-of-sorts recently," she says worriedly.

"Oh it's worse than that," Kurt assures her in a whisper. "You know as well as I do that his rhythm is all off. He was half a beat behind on his entrance for Higher Ground and he nearly dropped Quinn on the lift in the Green Day medley yesterday. She was _not _amused."

"I know!" Rachel says with frustration, "I just don't understand why! I worked with him for an hour on last Thursday on that lift and he performed it perfectly!"

"He did? Well, we might be able to change the choreography around. And we can tighten up that entrance if I have to push him out on stage myself. But you know that's not really the problem."

She sighs. "I know. It's the solo isn't it?"

On stage, Puck opens with the first verse.

_There may come a time, a time in everyone's life  
where nothing seems to go your way  
where nothing seems to turn out right  
there may come a time, you just cant seem to find your way _

Kurt continues quietly, "Rachel, _Let It Be Me_ is the perfect bridge for our performance. We've been working for months on it, and Puck can totally pull it off. We've all heard it. But recently..."

"He's hitting all the notes."

"I know..."

Puck pauses and makes a few notes on his sheet music and then picks back up with another verse.

_I remember all too well  
Just how it feels to be all alone  
You feel like you'd give anything  
For just a little place you can call your own_

Rachel bites her lip before saying softly, "His tone is lovely and there's no question that his guitar playing adds a certain dimension."

"I agree. Technically, he's as good as he's ever been. But there's something missing, some spark and if we're going to win Nationals, everything has to be _perfect_, not just technically excellent. And we've only got two weeks until Nationals to fix this."

On stage, the spotlight tightens until the only possible focus is on Noah, his chiseled features, the lines of his body, his hands moving surely along the strings of the guitar.

Kurt's right, Rachel knows he is, even if the change in Noah's performance is almost infinitesimal and impossible to define. They missed the top ten at Nationals by a hairbreadth last year. This year, she's determined to take it all.

She listens intently as Noah breaks into the final stanza and chorus.

_That's when you need someone  
Someone that you can call  
When all your faith is gone  
It feels like you can't go on_

_Let it be me  
Let it be me  
If it's a friend you need  
Let it be me  
Let it be me_

With the last notes of the music trailing away, Puck gruffly thanks the Brad and the rest of the musicians and stalks to the wings. Rachel can read frustration in the set of his shoulders.

Kurt makes a clicking noise with his tongue. "Poor boy. It's practically seeping out of his pores."

"What are you talking about Kurt?"

"Puck's problem. The one that's got him so tied up in knots. After exhaustive research in which I made use of all available sources, including, ugh, Jacob Ben Israel's blog, and by the way, have you considered a restraining order?"

"Every single day. Get to the point, Kurt."

"Right you are. Anyway, I found out what the problem is. Sex. Specifically, the lack thereof. Our resident sex shark isn't getting any and it's throwing him off."

Rachel scoffs. "Firstly, that's a ridiculous correlation. There is no causal link between sexual gratification and vocal ability. And secondly, I sincerely doubt that Puck isn't _'getting any'_ as you so charmingly put it. I doubt he's gone without for as much as a week since he lost his virginity to Hannah Jacobs at age thirteen."

Kurt raises one eyebrow and Rachel grudgingly explains, "The J.C.C. basement during the youth group Hanukkah party. I was sent down to get extra cups and..."

Clapping his hands over his ears, Kurt squeals, "TMI! TMI!," and then seeing Rachel's mouth close cautiously continues. "Well all I can tell you is that all my sources agree. Puck hasn't had carnal relations with anyone for at least a month. Not since Brittany's party during spring break."

Rachel chokes. "Brittany's party? Spring break?"

Kurt sounds awed. "Hard to believe, isn't it. But nothing. Not Cheerios. No Cougars. It's like a total sexual interdiction."

Rachel is still stuttering. "Well...even if...how can you make the connection?"

"Oh Rachel, Rachel. Poor innocent Rachel. Do you remember Invitationals, sophomore year?"

"Of course."

"April Rhodes, locker room."

"That drunken floozy! But that's just one case."

"And Regionals, junior year? Puck's amazing rendition of Sympathy for the Devil?"

"How could I forget? It was wonderful!" And _incredibly_ hot.

"Apparently so were Santana and Brittany. In the back of the bus."

Ugh. Really? "The bus we traveled in?"

"Unfortunately. And the Holiday concert..."

"Enough! Please. Let's say you've proved your point. Let's say that Puck sings better when..." she trails off.

"When he's all sexed up," Kurt finishes her sentence.

"Well, lets say he does. What can we do about it?" She already feels a little sick. Yes. That is absolutely how she is going to define that funny feeling in her stomach.

"Not we. _You_."

"Me?" she says, panic creeping into her voice. "Kurt, you're...that is..."

Kurt looks at her critically. "I agree, it's not ideal, but when you look at it from a practical standpoint, you're the only possible candidate." He pulls out his GLAM notebook to show her the series of graphs and graphic organizers that he's created. (Darn him for using her weaknesses against her!) "Face it Rachel. This needs to stay within Glee Club. Puck can be very distractible. We can't very well bring him to Nationals in this state. Who knows who he'll end up with?" He looks at her significantly and Rachel makes a face at him. Jesse St. James was a long time ago.

As much as it pains her to admit it, Kurt may have a point. She certainly doesn't want to see Noah engage in any relations, sexual, romantic or otherwise with a member of a rival team. Solely because it would be terrible for New Directions of course. But there's definitely an out here.

"Santana! Or Brittany, or any of the other girls," she blurts out, ignoring the voice in the back of her head asking her if she really wants an out. A voice that sounds suspiciously like Noah's warm drawl breathing into the crook of her neck while she's pressed between him and Brittany's bedroom door, the music from the party pumping a steady beat while him hand slides up her leg to trace the elastic of her panties. She ruthlessly clamps down on that memory (she's has a lot of practice doing just that recently) and drags her attention back to Kurt.

"Where have you been?" he asks chidingly and she flushes. "After the scare with the suspiciously placed rash last week, Santana rejoined the abstinence club and took the pledge. That should last for a couple of weeks or at least until the test results come in. And Brittany finally completed her list three weeks ago, so I think she's off men unless we get a transfer student or something. Mercedes and Tina are both in serious relationships and Quinn's made it very clear that he's not willing to take another ride on that crazy train."

"And you think I am?" _Aren't you Rach?_ That voice again. She much be losing her mind.

"Why wouldn't you? You wouldn't have to date him, just...enjoy his talents! And frankly? Puck's crazy train would be right at home in your station."

"Thank you, Kurt. That's very sweet."

"Now don't go all Joan Crawford on me. I just meant that you can hold your own. But really, if you don't think it's a good idea, just forget it. Maybe we'll get lucky and one of those top ten teams will slip up. Perfection's overrated, right?"

Oh no. She's not stupid enough to fall for this.

He carefully returns his notebook to his bag and smiles brilliantly at her before continuing: "And really, if you aren't up for it, you aren't. After all, we can't all be Evita."

She lets out an annoyed puff of air. "I know that you're trying to do, Kurt."

"Is it working?"

_Absolutely not._ "Yes." _Darn it!_

Kurt squeals and hugs her. "I knew you wouldn't let us down! Don't worry about a thing, I'm sure I can come up with the perfect plan. You can wrap this up in a couple of days and then Nationals here we come!"

Really? She's going to take advice on how to seduce Noah from a man who's skin-care regimen is more rigorous than her own?

She swallows heavily and squeezes her thighs together to assuage the unexpected ache. (And it is. It is _absolutely_ unexpected, because why in the world would she be thinking about Noah...and his lovely arms...and his bad boy persona...and his talented mouth...and his roaming hands in _that_ way? Because Brittany's party was clearly just some kind of fluke.)

Oh lord. She can absolutely do this. It's for the greater good after all.

* * *

**A/N: Song: Let It Be Me by Ray LaMontagne**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you all so much for the wonderful response to chapter one! Your alerts and favorites and reviews are deeply appreciated!**

* * *

She's talked herself out of it by the time she gets home. And yes, she has to sit in the parked car in her driveway running through various scenarios that all seem to end in disaster for an hour or so in order to do so, _and_ endure nice Mrs. Wasserman from next door checking on her twice, but she can definitively say that she is over the fever dream that is Noah Puckerman.

That lasts until six PM when Dad and Daddy decide on a little music with dinner and slip in the _Moulin Rouge_ soundtrack. What are they _thinking_? Honestly, they might as well just call the Puckerman residence and offer her up on a silver platter. _Obviously,_ _Moulin Rouge_ is a direct link to Baz Lurhman which leads to _Australia_, and naturally from there to Hugh Jackman and Hugh Jackman's naked chest which of course leads inevitably back to last week when a shirtless Noah Puckerman was playing pickup basketball outside in the courtyard during lunch. Lentil pilaf has _never_ been so difficult to choke down.

After a restless night during which she learns _once again_ that she cannot control her unconscious (and also that dream Noah cares even less about personal boundaries than real Noah does), she oversleeps and has to rush through her morning routine, managing to arrive at McKinley only a few minutes before the homeroom bell. Unsurprisingly, Kurt is waiting impatiently at her locker, but his eyes light up when he sees her.

"Rachel! Good to see you're taking this seriously!" he chirps, smiling approvingly. "That outfit is perfect."

She looks down at herself. She's wearing a red pleated skirt, a sailor-middy and adorable knee-socks printed with an anchor pattern. In her opinion, she looks neat as a pin and school appropriate to boot. Kurt's opinion? "Kurt, you hate this outfit. The last time I wore it, you threatened to have me drafted into the navy."

"Oh absolutely! I think you look like you escaped from a bad remake of _Anchors Aweigh_. Puck on the other hand looks at you like he's a sailor on shore leave whenever you wear knee socks."

_Really? Knee socks?_ She'd like to explore that statement in more detail, but unfortunately, she speechless (something that's becoming far too common). Luckily Kurt doesn't seem to expect a response. "This is going to be easier than I thought," he whispers. "Here he comes now."

Rachel turns to find Noah ambling down the hall, frowning slightly at the floor, hands dug into his pockets. He's not looking at her, which is par for the course. Recently, it's been very difficult to catch his eye, even though sometimes she can't shake the feeling that he'd been staring at her only a second before. She's beginning to feel quite self-conscious about it.

"Say something," Kurt hisses into her ear as he is about to pass, but her mouth goes dry and her legs suddenly seem to be made of jelly.

"I...I don't have any lines prepared," she squeaks.

"Do I have to do everything myself?" he huffs. He drops a book and bends down to pick it up, making sure to dip a shoulder heavily into her hip and throw her off balance.

The thought that Kurt may have given up football too soon flies inconsequentially through her head as she stumbles back into the center of the hallway. She collides directly into a tall, muscular frame, where she's safely steadied by pair of strong arms. It's a very nice alternative to ending up sprawled out all over the floor flashing her 'Tuesday' panties to the world.

It _is_ unfortunately the wrong set of arms.

Her eyes widen as she takes in Noah standing about a foot away from her, his arm outstretched, looking back and forth between her face and Kurt's and he's absolutely scowling now.

"Are you all right young lady?" a voice sounds in her ear. She twists to find Coach Bieste with one hand still on her shoulder.

"Um?" she offers. It's hard to think with Noah staring at her.

"Good. Hummel! My office, NOW!"

"Me? Why me?" Kurt pipes.

"This kind of bullying is totally unacceptable and will not be tolerated here at McKinley!" bellows the coach as she marches off with Kurt in her wake.

"_Bullying?_ _ME?_" Rachel can hear Kurt's screech echo all the way down the hall and with a single backwards glance at Noah, she trots along after them, determined to explain things to Coach Beiste.

Twenty minutes later, it's becoming increasingly clear that explaining things is going to be a trifle difficult. Especially since Coach Beiste is unlikely to understand or approve the part of the truth where she and Kurt are involved in a plot to seduce a fellow team mate in order to win a national title. (Although she inevitably would have tried to use the information to destroy Glee Club, Coach Sylvester would have been much more understanding.)

The knock on the office door is a welcome interruption until a familiar shaven head pops in and Rachel and Kurt freeze in the middle of their recitation of the Ohio Show Choir Committee's demanding performance requirements for soloists.

"You want something Puckerman?" Beiste asks with what Rachel is sure is a certain measure of relief.

"Yeah Coach, Schue sent me. He needs Hummel in the choir room. Something about costumes."

The teacher directs a worried frown to the two teens sitting in plastic chairs in front of her. "I'm not sure I've gotten to the bottom of this incident."

Puck shrugs. "That thing in the hallway? It was an accident. I was right there. Sure, Hummel bumped her, but the dude has two left feet. Kid is a total klutz."

"Really?" she says with surprise, "But he does all that dancing with your group."

"Takes him forever to pick it up. In fact we have to get Hudson to teach him everything. Isn't that right, Hummel?"

Kurt gasps twice, once in indignation, and again when Rachel's foot makes contact with his shin. "Yes," he says grudgingly, "I'm terribly clumsy."

Coach Beiste still looks suspicious. "Well, I suppose I can accept that for now. Hummel, report to Mr. Schuester pronto. Puckerman, on your way out, make sure that Miss Berry stops at the guidance office. I think there are some pamphlets she should see. _Victim-No-More_ is a good read or maybe _10 Steps to a Higher Self-Esteem_."

Rachel is forced to kick Kurt under the desk again to quell his giggles, but Noah simply nods and the three of them leave the office. As soon as the door closes behind them, he grips Kurt's upper arm, while Kurt stares in him in alarm. "Let's go," he growls.

"Wait! Where are we going?" Rachel asks, "Ms. Pillsbury's office..."

"_We_ aren't going anywhere," Noah interrupts coolly. "_You_ are going to get your ass over to Guidance to get those pamphlets. Coach always double-checks. Hummel and I are going to have a little chat about...Nationals and shit." And without another word, he drags Kurt down the hallway.

Rachel feels a little disgruntled. Why are they talking about Nationals without her? She _is_ a team Captain after all.

* * *

"Are you joking? Tell me you're joking. Who are you? Mr. Schue?" Kurt groans when she expresses this point of view to him in the lunch line. "We weren't discussing Nationals, you ninny. Puck pulled me out to within arms-length of the nearest dumpster and told me that I'd be spending the rest of senior year in there if I ever laid a finger on you again."

"Oh Kurt! That's terrible!" (Although a teeny tiny part of her warms to think that someone is defending her, even if strictly speaking it isn't necessary. The fact that the someone is Noah? _Totally _immaterial.)

He waves at Mercedes, Artie and Mike who are already seated. "No actually, this is good. We can use this. Puck obviously has an _extremely_ well-hidden sense of chivalry." He looks at her thoughtfully. "And come to think about it, this isn't the first time he's had that kind of reaction where you're concerned. Now all we need to do is figure out how to use that to our advantage. I'm sure we can come up with some kind of dangerous situation to throw you into."

"Danger?" Rachel frowns as they weave their way through the crowd, "I'm not sure..."

"Not actual danger. Well, _probably_ not. All I know is after this morning's field trip, I'm not volunteering to be the one cracking an egg on your head. Now hush! We'll discuss this later." And he smiles brightly as they sit down next to Mercedes.

Probably not actual danger? That's not very comforting.

* * *

Kurt's next plan isn't long in materializing. By Wednesday afternoon Rachel is standing in the parking lot after school and staring intently at her car. Specifically at her deflated rear tire. "Kurt, I must say I'm impressed. This is actually a good idea."

He preens. "I know! Sometimes I surprise even myself. Puck leaves the school after baseball practice, you bat those ingenue eyelashes, while wrestling with the spare. Then when he approaches, _whoops_! You accidentally drop a lug-nut and when you're bending over to get it..."

"Kurt!" she scolds.

"Too much?" he asks, unabashed.

"Absolutely too much," she says firmly.

"Says the girl who hasn't had sex since Christmas," he mutters under his breath. (And number one on the list of things she _never_ wants to think about again? The fact that the walls in the Hudmel household are apparently a lot thinner than she'd realized.) "Fine. I'm sure you can figure it out. Thinking about it was kind of making me throw up in my mouth a little anyway."

Rachel makes a face. "Perhaps you'd better be on your way. Practice has been over for twenty minutes and granted, he usually helps Artie check in the equipment and then does a few series of repetitions in the weight room, nevertheless..."

Kurt's eyes narrow. "_Reeeeally?_ That's a very _detailed _timetable. Is there something you aren't telling me?"

"You're not the only one who can do research," she counters as she waves him off towards his Navigator. No need to mention that the research has taken place over the course of a few months (years?) rather than a few days.

She waits in her car for what seems like ages and she's starting to wish that she hadn't sent Kurt away quite so soon or at least that she dared to dash back in the school and grab a few more school books from her locker because as it is, she's got way too much time to think. Her predilection for burying her feelings under mountain of classes, rehearsals and extra-credit assignments is a long-standing habit; thank you soul-destroying McKinley social hierarchy, Finn Hudson break-ups number one through three, Shelby, Jesse, et al.

Not that her current slightly obsessive train of thought is anywhere near as unpleasant as a slushy.

In fact, most of it isn't unpleasant at all.  
_  
She spends the first part of Brittany's party uncomfortably aware that wherever he is, her eyes keep finding Noah. Maybe it's because of the way he's looking back at her. Seriously. Steadily. Like she's something he wants badly and it's crazy that she's letting it affect her because while she's never had much luck resisting that look, they've never been able to get it quite right either._

_She knows that, but it's starting not to matter. Because if he keeps touching her, she is absolutely going to lose her mind._

_It's just possible that it's accidental, the way he brushes by her in a crowded hallway, close enough so she can make out the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with the laundry detergent his mother uses. And the hand on her hip steadying her as she stretches up on tip-toes to reach a glass from a high cupboard in Brittany's kitchen could just be a friendly gesture. Friendly or not, she can feel the heat of his palm burning all the way through the material of her skirt, burning in a way that even her rum and coke doesn't._

_She's thinking about it in the upstairs bathroom, patting some cool water on her flushed cheeks, thinking about the feeling of his eyes meeting hers across the room and remembering what it felt like to experience that intense focus that plays out when his mouth is on hers and his hands are moving with deliberation up and down her body. When she opens the door, there he is, leaning against the opposite wall, hands dug into his pockets, eyes dark. Her next conscious thought (sometime later) is that impulse control can be overrated. _

_Somehow he manages to catch her as she launches herself at him. She's gripping one bicep and tangling her other hand in his collar, dragging his mouth to hers and he's just as enthusiastic, kissing her back hard. He moans when she nips his bottom lip-she's _finally_ figured out that he _likes_ that, maybe more than likes it judging by the heated thrust of his tongue against hers and the simultaneous snap of his hips thrusting into her. Then there's a confusing moment where her feet don't seem to be on the ground, the sound of a door opening and closing and the sense that she's someplace much darker and it's probably Brittany's bedroom, but a full investigation would require her to stop kissing him and that seems like a _terrible_ idea._

_As some point though, she can't help noticing that her blouse is unbuttoned and then one large, warm hand slides over her ribcage and cups her breast. Her breath stutters when his thumb strums her nipple through the lace of her bra, teasing it into a peak. _ Totally unfair. _She _needs_ to be touching more of him, so she pushes him away just far enough to tug his shirt over his head._

_"Fuck," he groans, staring at her hotly and then lunges back towards her to nibble a damp trail down her neck, sucking lightly on her collarbone._

Fuck._ It's the only word they've exchanged since the kissing started and when she whimpers in response to his fingers rubbing along her panties, teasing her clit, drawing moisture through the fabric, it does seem like the most likely scenario. At the rate they're going, she's going to be encouraging him to fuck her up against the door in a minute._

_Her head is spinning..._

_...  
_  
Weeks later and that's still more or less the case.

Because unfortunately, it all went to hell at that point and she really doesn't want to think about it any more and on reflection, even Kurt's lug-nut scenario would be lot safer to focus on. Thankfully, she finally hears the rumble of a familiar engine. Throwing her door open, she dashes to the back of her car where Kurt has already helpfully propped the spare and when she looks up, Noah's truck has pulled in beside her.

And really? Is it _really_ so wrong to want to seduce Noah Puckerman? To feel his arms tighten around her and enjoy the way his guitarist fingers trace the lines of her body? To lick a bead of sweat off his chest and to explore that fascinating arrow of hair that leads to yet another fascinating body part? _And_ to win Nationals along the way?

The universe apparently thinks so.

Because he's not alone. Instead, a figure _very_ familiar to her from years of Friday night services and JCC potlucks is walking over to her and cheerfully wrenching the spare from her hands while Noah stands around with his arms crossed over his chest and some combination of boredom, irritation and something else she can't quite place chasing over his face.

"Hello, Mrs. Puckerman," Rachel says weakly.

In the space of ten minutes Noah's mother has changed the tire and treated her to a spirited denunciation of the patriarchy's ridiculous and outdated take on gender-assigned roles, while _at the same time _talking Rachel into baking six dozen cookies for the Temple roofing fund bake sale on Saturday.

Noah spends the entire time staring at her legs and grunting when she attempts to make polite conversation. She's getting kind of desperate and possibly last week's Tony nominations weren't the best way to finally get the ball rolling, but at last he does flash her a grin.

"Totally interesting," he murmurs, taking a step closer and Rachel inhales.

"All set now sweetheart! You should get home before your daddies start to worry." Mrs. Puckerman gives her son a hard look. "We have to be getting home after our meeting with Principal Figgins anyway. What Noah's fascination with that soda machine is, I'll never understand."

Rachel would never use a vulgar term like _cock-blocked,_ especially since she knows that Mrs. Puckerman's attempts to get her together with Noah are as longstanding as they have been futile. (It's not for nothing that the first slushy happened three days after his mother scrubbed him to within an inch of his life, forced him into a too-small suit, and dumped him on her doorstep for her bat mitzvah party.)

But as her cheek is patted and she's sent on her way, she has to admit that the term is curiously apt.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Again, thank you so much for the amazing response to this story! You all keep me writing.**

* * *

Thursday's full dress rehearsal is the worst ever. Finn is late because his drum-set has gone missing, _Mike_ of all people blows a spin that he's probably had mastered since since middle school, Tina is sharp coming in on _Good Riddance_, and if Artie moans '_we're doomed_,' one more time, she thinks she's going to have to physically restrain Tina from going after him. As if that wasn't enough, Santana and Mercedes are arguing over sequin placement. (Rachel has to bite her tongue because really? Senior year and they're just _now_ realizing how important that is?)

As for herself, Rachel is far too professional to let any last-minute nerves mar her performance, but even she has her breaking point and it comes about when Mr. Schuester interrupts about halfway through practice (and no, she doesn't think it's a coincidence that it's about sixty seconds before she starts_ her_ solo) and makes enthusiastic noises about '_switching things up_.' With Sectionals 2010 flashing before her eyes, she spends a good twenty minutes talking him back from the edge. At some point, Noah distracts him will a nonsensical question about ukulele strings and Kurt pulls her into the next room where he spends the _next_ twenty minutes talking _her_ back from the edge.

Finally, she's a little calmer (Kurt's acid commentary on their teacher's hair, Spanish accent and rapping skills help) and he pats her hand reassuringly. "We'll pull it together by the next practice. We always do."

Rachel looks at him solemnly. "Or at the _very least_, five minutes before the performance. How many of those Nationally ranked teams can say that?"

They both burst out giggling and if anything, Noah's entrance makes them laugh even harder, although in her case it's definitely linked to the butterflies lurching crazily in her stomach.

He just leans on the door-frame and waits them out. "You two just about done braiding each other's hair in here? 'Cause I think Hudson's about to launch into his '_we are one big dancing, singing happy family_' thing he always does before performances and I know you don't want to miss that."

Kurt's eyes light up. "Oooh! Is he? I have an ongoing bet with Mercedes that he's going to throw in a Sound of Music reference at some point. If I had known he was going to do it today I would have worn my lederhosen."

Noah just rolls his eyes and holds the door open for them. Kurt slips through, but as she tries to pass Noah, he steps to block her. "Hold on a sec."

She pauses, looking curiously at him, but he's silent. "Noah?"

Scrubbing his hand over his scalp uncomfortably he says, "Right. I've been thinking that it was weird about that flat yesterday. Your tires look pretty new. Is anyone giving you shit again? Because if so, just tell me about it and I'll take care of it. Or Sam or Mike will, or anyone. I mean, we don't want anything happening to you this close to Nationals."

_Of course_. She doesn't know what's stranger. That Noah Puckerman cares enough about Nationals to beat someone up on her behalf (she's not going to pretend not to know what 'take care of it' means) or that she herself managed to completely forget about the competition over the course of the last 30 seconds. There's probably a lesson in there for her, but she shrugs it off for the time being.

"Noah, that's very chivalrous of you, but I'm not having any problems." _ At least not any that you can help me with right here in an empty classroom. Although if even half of what I remember from Brittany's party actually happened and wasn't some hormone-fueled adolescent fantasy, you probably could. Right over there on Mrs. Bredon's desk. _Oh God._ Note to self: keep internal monologue strictly internal._ "Luckily your mother knew just what to do."

He barks out a laugh. "Yeah, she's good with that kind of stuff. Kinda had to be. And anyway it wasn't much of a favor. What did she get out of you? Four dozen cookies?"

Rachel winces. "Six dozen."

"She's good. Guilt like that, it's an art form. I'm not surprised she was after you though. You make good cookies."

Rachel feels absurdly gratified. "You think so?"

He laughs lowly. "Yeah. Almost worth pissing you off to get those _'I'm sorry'_ cookies after you lose your shit."

She's not going to get a better opening than that and pulling up a few quick mental reference to various femme fatales from Hollywood's Golden Age, she takes a step forward and peers up at him through her lashes.

"Maybe if you didn't work so hard to upset me, you'd find out that my _'thank you'_ cookies are even better," she purrs.

What can she say? If there's one thing she's learned after more than a year of dating Finn, it's that teenage boys like baked goods. A lot.

He inhales and leans in towards her and his eyes are glued to her lips and suddenly she can't breathe properly. Of course everyone chooses that minute to exit from the choir room next door and she can hear Kurt crowing, "Nazis! Finn compared Vocal Adrenaline to the Nazis chasing us over the Alps. I win!"

"He said the Appalachian Mountains," Mercedes complains.

"Close enough," Kurt replies. "You know geography isn't his strong point."

Rachel shudders and Noah shakes his head incredulously. "Nazis? He's using Nazis to make a point in a pep talk? You've got to be shitting me. I'm going to go set him straight."

She allows herself a tiny shrug and a wry "Good luck," and is rewarded with a quick grin.

Making him smile is more gratifying than it should be.

* * *

"Cookies? _Cookies_ are your plan for getting under Puck? How is that even possible?"

Rachel decides not to tell him that baked goods she's spent all Friday evening working on are _technically_ for Noah's mother.

Kurt's not waiting for a response anyway. "Please tell me that's some kind of crazy straight-kid lingo for a series of depraved sexual acts that are going to make Noah Puckerman sing like a bird and win us Nationals," he demands as he rifles through her lingerie, pulling out a red bustier. "Oooh! This is nice!"

Rachel sighs as she pulls her brush through her hair. "Sophomore year. _Express Yourself._ And please stay out of my underwear drawer."

Kurt pretends to sulk. "I'm just trying to help. Tim Gunn says that underwear is the foundation of fashion."

"Really? Because if you had wanted to help, you could have assisted in baking the dozens of cookies that I expressly invited you over to help me make."

"Never underestimate the value of moral support, sweetie. Besides trans-fats give me a rash. Anyway, Mercedes will be here with the movie soon, so let's get back to the drawing board. I'm _sure_ I can come up with something better than_ cookies_."

"It's not the worst idea ever," Rachel defends herself. "After all '_the way to a man's heart is through his stomach_' is a well-known aphorism."

"True," Kurt mutters, "But we aren't really looking for the way to his _heart_, just his..._Hey!_" He skips to dodge Rachel's brush. "No violence please! With rehearsal all weekend, we won't have time to put anything major into action, but naturally I have a few small ideas to get things moving in the right direction." He makes a face. "Let's try to avoid any more interruptions."

Her mouth goes dry and she has to make an effort to speak calmly. "More interruptions would certainly not be the ideal." Kurt is looking at her sharply; she needs a minute or two to regain her composure. "I'm going to go check on that last batch of cookies."

Ugh. Definitely not ideal. In fact, in the past it's been disastrous.

* * *

_Her head is spinning_

_His mouth tears away from her neck and his hands move to her upper arms, gripping hard._

_"Hold on. What did you say?" he demands, his eyes wary._

_Wait. Did she say that out loud?_

_"Shit, shit, shit," he mutters, pulling her forward to where the light from the window shines on her face. "Rach. Shit...I can't...are you drunk?"_

_Her head may be spinning, but it's got absolutely nothing to do with the one weak rum and coke she's been nursing all night and everything to do with the half naked boy in front of her. He's been doing crazy things to her head for months (years) and for once there's no Finn or Jesse or Quinn or Santana or whoever to get in the way and as impetuous, and yes, as unlike her as this is, she wants it. She wants _him_. She opens her mouth to tell him just that when the sound of the door opening behind her shocks her into silence._

_Noah reaches quickly over her shoulder to stop the door from opening completely and at the same time shoves her into the corner where she can't be seen._

_"Room's occupied," he says shortly, blocking the gap with his body._

_"Puckerman," a familiar voice drawls. "I should have known. Empty bedroom, random skank. That's got your name written all over it."_

_Santana. She and Santana get along just fine, as long as your definition of 'just fine' starts and ends with the two of them completely ignoring each others existence outside of the confines of Glee._

_"Whatever, San. Just go find someone else to harass." He tries to shut the door, but Santana is obviously blocking him._

_"You'd better not have one of my Cheeri-hos in there. Sylvester's going to shit a brick if you fertilize another one of her cheerleaders this close to Nationals."_

_"None of your fucking business. Why don't you go sniffing after Brit or Hudson or whoever you're humping this week and..."_

_"Is it Phillips?" Santana interrupts, salacious enjoyment evident in her tone. "Christ, that girl is a total whore. Or wait, O'Connell's been giving you the eye for the last couple weeks. Don't bother, I know for a fact that she's not a natural red-head. So spill. Who's the lucky girl. Maybe we can share."_

_Rachel's fingers are starting to shake as she buttons up her blouse. There's no chance in hell that their detente will last if Santana gets hold of something she considers juicy. Like for example if she were to gain the impression that Rachel is some kind of slut hooking up with Puck at a party. _Ohgodohgodohgod!_ Does he think she's some kind of slut who hooks up at parties?_

_"Fuck off, Satan," he growls. "It's nobody."_

Nobody._ The word falls like an actual blow and maybe she has had more to drink than she thought because she feels like she's going to be sick._

_Santana laughs lightly. "Not gonna kiss and tell? That's not like you, Puck. Guess I'll have to run downstairs and take attendance." The door closes and she's gone._

_Noah groans and pounds the door frame in apparent frustration. "What the _fuck_ is it about tonight?" He turns and reaches for her, but maybe he's reading something is her face or bady or maybe three feet and three minutes are too great a divide to bridge because he lets his hand fall away and instead swipes his shirt off the floor and yanks it over his head._

_"I'm gonna take care of this," he says, his voice carefully controlled. "Distract her or something. Shit, there's bound to be someone downstairs she hasn't fucked over yet. Just...Rach, you don't have to...just give me a few minutes."_

Nobody. _ She doesn't look up, too busy inhaling carefully through her nose and trying to swallow through the acrid taste in her mouth._

_"_Fuck_," he bites out again, so quietly she almost doesn't hear it and she's alone in the room._

_She's thirsty. She's thirsty and she wants her special glass and her triple-filtered water and ice that's crushed, not in cubes. She wants to curl up on the couch and let Daddy stroke her hair and have Dad make popcorn and put in _West Side Story_. So that's what she does. It's easy to wait a minute and then slip down the stairs, and out the front door. No one notices her at all. _

* * *

She turns her phone off for the rest of vacation and when she goes back to school she utilizes dodging skills that she hasn't put into practice since the days when they biggest mystery of her day was whether she'd be doused in red or blue ice. For two weeks, it's like a bruise that she doesn't dare touch and by the time she finally works out that her reaction has a lot more to do with Shelby and Jesse and even Finn a little bit than it does with Noah, it's clear that he's avoiding her too. (It's only at this point that she remembers that he has some history of his own to deal with.)

Things get a little easier when she smiles at him at lunch and he nods at her in Glee and preparing for the upcoming competitions is obviously very important to the whole team. So she does her very best (and her best is very, _very_ good) to convince herself that is was all just some kind of spring fever: virulent while it lasts, but temporary. And she even thinks she believes it until Kurt hatches this _insane_ plan.

Of course, she realizes as she mechanically boxes up the last of the cookies and washes the baking sheet, she's the one who agreed to it.

* * *

**A/N: I hope this wasn't too heavy with the extended flashback. Expect more of Kurt's schemes (to go wrong) in the next chapter. I'd love to know what you think! **


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Happy return of Glee day! Thank you so much for the wonderful response to this story! I'm a little behind on my review responses, but I can't tell you all how grateful I am for your feedback. **

* * *

Certainly the full-day practices on Saturday and Sunday _should_ be gratifying because when she and Kurt submitted the proposed practice schedule three months ago, along with a ten-page rationale as to why they should implement it, they didn't really expect Mr. Schuester to carry it out. And yes, it is wonderful to see them all coming together after Thursday's difficulties. Whether it's Finn's pep talk, Kurt's veiled threats (the simple whispered phrase '_Single Ladies'_ seems to whip all the footballer players into shape) or the sense that this is their last shot at the brass ring before high school is over, everyone is taking this very seriously.

It's exactly what she knew this club could be all those years ago when she sat in the Carmel High auditorium and watched Vocal Adrenaline kill _Rehab _and she _loves_ it.

In retrospect though, she just wishes she'd allowed just a _smidge_ more down-time into the agenda. Unfortunately, three months ago, she had no idea that she's be devoting a significant proportion of her time cursing her own brilliant choreography as she casts sideways glances at Noah Puckerman who's currently partnered with Quinn all the way at the other end of the stage. It's at least another hour until their first break and worst of all she can just see Kurt's meticulously crafted flashcards peeking out from the corner of her handbag, reproachfully reminding her that she has another task to carry out.

Is it wrong to feel just the tiniest bit irritated that Mr. Schuester is choosing _now_ of all times to start listening to her?

* * *

_**Kurt's Guide to Seduction**_ (in three easy steps)

_**Piquing Your Man's Interest: 1A. Try bringing up one of his hobbies.  
**__**Fight Club: **__no, although admittedly hot, even if you leave out the homoerotic subtext. Mmmmm. I'll just save that one for another time, shall I?__**  
Sex: **__too obvious. Plus, that's for later.__**  
Sports**__: yes! Research is key._

During their first break, she approaches him as he takes a long pull from his water-bottle (admittedly distracting). By the time she's pulled herself together, he's looking at her curiously and she launches into her take on the Chicago Black Sox scandal of 1919. Unfortunately he doesn't seem to have an opinion on whether Shoeless Joe Jackson was framed. Slightly nonplussed, she asks him what he thinks the impact of World War II military service was on Hank Greenberg's major league baseball career. Surely he knows his Jewish baseball players? He does, but the conversation lags due to the fact that he's staring at her like she has two heads. And Mr. Schuester calls them back to the stage before she can even complete her narration of Cy Young's first perfect game.

Hmmm. Maybe that would have gone better if she had made it past 1954 in Dad's _History of Baseball_.  
_**  
Piquing Your Man's Interest: 1B. Accentuate your best features.  
**__**Voice: **__let's try a new approach. We've all heard it. Again and again. No offense. __**  
Hair: **__lovely, especially since you started using that conditioner I recommended, but I'm not sure that anyone who uses liquid soap from the dispenser in the shower room to wash his own hair is going to find it a real draw. (Don't ask.) __**  
Legs: **__jackpot._

During lunch, she volunteers to lead the girls through a series of stretches designed to promote strength and flexibility (and draw Noah's eye of course.) At first it seems to be working perfectly. She guides one leg back in a modified arabesque and she can tell she's got his attention from the way he stops absently strumming his guitar. And by the time she sneaks an upside down peek at him during a deep bend, his eyes seem to be bulging and she doesn't remember his face being that red before. But then, oddly, when she glances back over just as she's bringing her leg up by her ear he's gone. Actually all the boys have disappeared, except for Kurt, who shrugs back at her, clearly puzzled as well.

Funny. That was always Jesse's favorite move back when they took modern dance together.

Mr. Schuester is not happy when not happy when he comes back from lunch to find half the group trooping in late and Sam muttering something about ice baths.

_**Piquing Your Man's Interest: 1C. Make eye contact. **_  
_**Not too subtle:**__ it's not going to do us any good if he doesn't even notice.  
__**Not too pronounced:**__ crazy eyes aren't attractive on anyone.__  
__**Actually:**__ just watch an expert at work and then maybe you can give it a try.  
_  
Puck frowns with what Rachel thinks is real concern. "Dude, for the last time, have you got something in your eye or not? Because I don't think it's going to come out with just you blinking like crazy."

"There's an emergency eye-wash station in the science wing if you need it, Kurt. I know because I set it off last week," Finn chimes in helpfully.

Later, Rachel is sure to tell Kurt how much she appreciated his expertise.

Kurt is not amused.

* * *

Noah is waiting for her at her car when she finally finishes going over a few last-minute modifications of the musical arrangements with Brad. Well, she assumes he's waiting for her; certainly he's leaning against her car door, but he doesn't say anything when she approaches, just watches her through half-lidded eyes, smiling lazily, hand dug in his pocket.

She greets him and she's going for casual but she knows it comes out more breathless than she would like. "Noah, hello. I thought everyone would be out of here by now. I know practice was a little longer than most people generally enjoy, especially on a Saturday."

He shrugs. "Everyone else is gone. I wanted to see that you got out of there okay. You know, make sure that Tinkles didn't kill you and hide your body in the instrument closet or something."

"Brad loves me!" Rachel says indignantly.

"The only thing that Brad loves is his piano. Brad tolerates you because you love music and because you've stopped ruffling his hair while you're doing that circling the piano thing. And I'm not sure how much that's going to buy you if you start making five thousand last minute changes again."

She bites her lip guiltily. "He was a bit irritated with me before Sectionals, wasn't he?"

"Eh. You were _fine_. I think he probably enjoyed rounding up that trio of pan flutists you wanted. Zamfir probably just _sounds_ like a curse word when you're muttering it under your breath."

She laughs outright and he looks so pleased with himself that she laughs harder, even as she can feel herself flush. He's teasing her a little, but the warmth spreading through her like a tiny flame isn't embarrassment, it's the startling notion that possibly he likes to make her smile just as much as she likes to return the favor.

Maybe it shouldn't be a surprise because here's the thing that she keeps coming back to. She can bury it in work, or give out a show-smile bright enough to blind the world, or wrap it all in pretty words and a soaring melody and post it on Myspace, but Brittany's party and it's aftermath and all the residual hurt from Noah's careless words last month? The truth is, it still stings.

But another truth is that she's been a teammate and a target and an object of desire, and even a friend, but Noah Puckerman has never, _never_ considered her to be_ nobody_.

(So what is he to her? She's not ready to examine that too closely.)

The sound of his phone shakes her out of her daydream.

He answers it with an grunt. "Yeah, Ma...Parking lot. I'm on my way now...What? Fine, I'll tell her...No, I'm not going to forget, she's right here...Damn it Ma, if you'd let me get off the phone, I would...Okay, you too." Shoving the phone back in his pocket he turns to her. "I gotta run. My sister has an away game and I'm driving. But my mom wanted me to thank you for the cookies for the bake sale. She says they sold right away."

"I'm so glad! Hold on just a moment Noah, I actually have something for you." She reaches for the car door, but hesitates when he doesn't move from his position, still blocking her way with his well-muscled frame. "Excuse me," she says politely, but he just smirks and settles back.

"You got something for me, Rach? I'm right here."

The scratchy timbre of his voice when he flirts with her like this has_ always _turned her bones to water, but given his mother's phone call, she's reasonably certain he's not serious. Still, she casts a regretful glance at the backseat of her Civic (he's resourceful; they could make it work) before reaching a hand to his waist and gently pushing him to the side. He shifts easily enough and she opens her door and leans in to grab the neatly wrapped box in the passenger's seat. (Is she imagining his tiny groan? She has to resist the temptation to root around a little more.)

She straightens and hands him the box, suddenly feeling foolish. Kurt is probably right, cookies are a ridiculous idea. "These are for you. It's just cookies, but you said you liked them and since it's sort of my fault that you couldn't at least drop in at the bake sale, I thought...well, I just thought..." She needn't have bothered feeling awkward, he's already torn off the ribbon and paper and then he's groaning rapturously as he stuffs at least two in his mouth at once.

"So fucking good!" he mumbles in between bites. (Ha! Take that Kurt!)

"I made plenty, so remember to share with your sister."

"Hell no," he scowls. "Let her get her own cookies!"

"Noah!"

"Fine, but just remember if she eats them all, you're gonna have to make me more."

His phone is buzzing, but he hits ignore without even looking. "I should go." He doesn't move.

"Me too," she says, paying no heed to her open car door. "Are you going to Kurt's thing tomorrow?"

"Kurt's thing?" he asks, raising an eyebrow. "I haven't heard anything about it."

Not surprising since she just made it up.

"Oh you know, it's just after practice tomorrow. Pizza and movies, that sort of thing."

Still, serves him right. A few light hosting duties are the least Kurt can do after thrusting her headfirst into this situation. _ (Just remember,_ _you weren't exactly unwilling, Rachel_.)

"Sounds good. _Fuck_." The last word is directed towards his phone and he picks up. "I'm on my way...No, I'm pulling out of the parking lot right now." He winks at her and she stifles a giggle. _'See you tomorrow_,' he mouths and backs away towards his truck and she waves before pulling out her own phone.

"Kurt? I'm going to need some help."

* * *

Sunday's practice is almost identical to Saturday's except that Kurt hasn't made more flashcards. Actually they've both agreed that Kurt's vintage collection of _Seventeen_ magazine might not be the best place to look for ideas and perhaps a more _modern _approach is warranted. To that effect, Kurt decides to take the initiative and 'borrow' her phone to sext Noah. It probably would have worked better if she hadn't actually been talking to Noah in the hallway when it arrived.

"What the hell, Rachel?" he snorts, showing her the display.

She reads it and shrieks before snatching his phone away and deleting it. She is going to_ kill _Kurt when she finds him. That confession about her non-existent gag reflex was supposed to be _completely _confidential.

Noah spends the rest of his breaks that day trying to figure out who stole Rachel's phone. Kurt spends his breaks hiding in the girls' bathroom just in case Noah figures it out. Rachel spends her breaks trying to figure out why she is _always_ wanting something she can't have.

* * *

**A/N: Next up, Kurt's soiree and yes, Nationals is rapidly approaching. I hope you continue to enjoy the story and I'd love to know what you think!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I apologize for the long wait for this update. I've been ridiculously busy the last few weeks and real life has been interfering with my writing time. On a brighter note, there's been so much lovely PR interaction to inspire me! As always, thank you so much for the support and feedback. You are a wonderful bunch to write for!**

* * *

Kurt pauses and smiles encouragingly at her as he pulls a stack of plates from the cupboard and arranges a selection of drinks on the counter-top. "Everyone will be here in a few minutes so I just need you to remember one thing for me. Whatever you get up to tonight, please note that my bed is absolutely _off limits_. My sheets are 1000 thread count and as attractive as he undoubtedly is, Puckerman doesn't make the cut for slumber-parties."  
_  
Slumber parties?_ She's not even sure what Kurt thinks is going to happen at this event, but somehow she doubts he's talking about hair-braiding and footie pajamas.

"Kurt! It's certainly not like I'm going to offer myself to him over a slice of pizza," she admonishes, looking at him incredulously over the vegetable platter she'd brought. (They'll probably ignore it, but at least her teammates will know she cares about their health.)

Of course she isn't. Even if part of her wants to find the nearest closet and become reacquainted with his lips (and better acquainted with the rest of him), with only the New Directions kids in attendance, it would be rude (and possibly more conspicuous than she's comfortable with) for the two of them to disappear for an extended period of time. _'Hot though,_' Noah's voice whispers inside her head and she blushes while Kurt arches a brow at her.

"Listen Rachel, I know we've had a few setbacks and believe me, I share your frustration..."

_Not likely._

"...but we're already well into the second act here. Let's not forget the big picture here: _Nationals_. The bus leaves on Thursday and our performance is on Saturday. It's time to get to the finale already."

"Right. Nationals," she says in a small voice.

Kurt stops folding napkins and looks at her carefully. "Rachel?"

Here's the question that's been bothering her all day: is all this just another example of her wanting something she _can't_ have or is it once again something she _shouldn't_ have. She's always had difficulty telling the two apart.

"It's just...I'm not sure. I've started to wonder if everything is going wrong for a reason. What if Nationals isn't a good enough reason to use somebody like that?"

"Use somebody? I think you may be over-thinking this: we're talking about sex between two consenting adults here. Many people would consider it a relaxation technique, like a back-rub with benefits. And honestly, do you really think Puck would mind?"

"Puck? Probably not," she admits. The problem is, she doesn't really want to sleep with Puck. She does however want badly to sleep with Noah. And maybe it's just a projection of her own feelings, but she thinks it's just possible that Noah _would_ care.

Kurt reaches for her hand and gives it a quick squeeze. "I know that our relationship started out on rocky footing and from time to time we clash, but I consider you to be one of my very best friends. That said, I really don't want to see you get hurt. Do you have feelings for Puck?" he asks carefully. "I mean it would be understandable. You two do have some kind of strange history together and believe me, I get that. There's no judgment here."

_Yes. No. It's beyond too complicated to explain. _ She makes an effort to smile at him. "I appreciate your concern, but I can truly tell you that I'm not in love with Puck, if that's what you're implying."

Kurt nods, but still looks doubtful.

It's not even a lie. She's hated that nickname ever since she was eleven and he walked into the JCC with a busted lip and an absent father and a new name to match his attitude.

"You have nothing to worry about, Kurt."

And he apparently takes her at her word, because beyond a few searching glances over the course of the night, he doesn't bring it up again. Not that he has much of a chance to because everyone is piling into the house and devouring the pizza and talking a mile a minute. If she's uncharacteristically quiet, there's enough background chatter to mask it.

(Noah's quiet too.)

Before long, Kurt is flashing her his '_I'm brilliant and you know you love me_' smile. For a moment she's so busy analyzing it for potential use on producers, directors and co-stars alike that she forgets to wonder exactly why it's on his face. "Movie time," he says brightly, waving a handful of horror DVDs in her face. (She's sure that they came out of Finn's collection since she's never seen Kurt watch anything made after 1957.)

"I thought something from this genre might be fun for a change."

Right. Kurt thinks that watching Linda Blair vomit pea soup would be be '_fun_.' Usually, the early 1970s costuming alone would be enough to put him off. Of course he's up to something.

So she's not at all surprised to find the only open spot in the den is on the couch, wedged between Noah and Tina. And let's face it, she may be confused, but it's not like she's going to complain about feeling Noah's hard thigh pressed alongside hers and when he moves to rest one arm on the back of the sofa, she could swear that he brushes her hair with his fingertips. It's not even a conscious decision, but as the lights dim she can just feel her body relax against his and _yes_, his hand drifts down and winds around a curl, tugging gently.

She's so aware of him that nothing else seems in focus, not the movie, not the others.

Which is why it's so disconcerting when Tina practically jumps her.

Rachel would be the first one to decry forming judgments about individuals based on appearance. She, for example, may occasionally favor plaid skirts and knee-socks, but that doesn't make her a Catholic school-girl. (And whatever Santana may say, she doesn't know _any_ Japanese businessmen, much less ones with fetishes.) Mr. Schuester's sweater-vests might remind her strongly of her great-uncle Abe, but she thinks the number of hearts he's left strewn throughout northwest Ohio speaks for itself. And she knows for a fact that behind the hair and the scowl and the Letterman jacket, Noah is hiding a person who can and does feel things intensely.

That said, she has to admit that Tina's current position nearly perched on her lap, hands squeezing hers tightly, with her head buried in Rachel's neck, is a _huge_ surprise. Although Tina's goth-inspired attire would suggest something else, apparently, Principal Figgins was even further off with his vampire accusation than anyone in New Directions realized. As it turns out, Tina's mom isn't banning Twilight because she thinks Kristen Stewart looks like a bitch. Instead it's because anything more frightening than Count Chocula breakfast cereal makes Tina grab on to the nearest person and hold on for dear life.

She thinks she hears Noah mumble something, but it's hard to tell through a face full of blue-black hair.

At some point during the movie, he gets up and for a second she thinks about trying to follow, but something happens on-screen with the main character's head and she's too busy trying to unwind Tina's arms from around her neck and re-establish a regular flow of oxygen to worry about it. By the time Kurt calls an intermission to make popcorn, it's clear he's long gone.

There's no way she's going back in there-as much as she loves Tina, she can't risk damage to her vocal cords by another ill-placed hug and besides, with everything that's happened over the last week, she's kind of had her fill of horror. (Yes, she's being over-dramatic. Is this a surprise?) Instead, she busies herself putting away the leftovers and filling up the dishwasher and it's all very mechanical and soothing, or at least it is until she opens the back door to get a breath of fresh air. The second she does, the butterflies that have never truly been out of the picture for the last month or so are back in full force because from somewhere out in the yard she hears Noah playing his guitar, familiar chords strummed out softly and then fading away.

There's still enough light to see across the grass to Carole's neatly-edged flowerbeds and Kurt's old tree house up against the fence, but he's nowhere in sight, so she slips out and follows the music around the house to find him behind the garage. Seated in a rickety lawn chair with his feet propped up on an old milk-crate, he's angled slightly away from her and her breath is caught up in her throat as she watches his hands move surely along the strings. He's improvising, weaving snatches of melodies she recognizes (_Need You Now_ for almost a full minute) with pieces that she thinks must be his own.

"Hey Rach," he says, pausing briefly, but not looking up.

"That was lovely, Noah. Have you been working on it long?"

He shrugs, starts picking out a tune again. "Just messing around." He tilts his head towards the chair next to his. "Sit down if you want. Gotta assume you're done with movies for tonight."

"That's a safe assumption to make," she says, her lips curving into a slight smile. "The last I saw, Santana had taken our spot on the couch. I'm not sure she knows what she's letting herself in for."

"Serves her right," he says sourly, and then meeting her gaze, shrugs again. "Whatever. She's had her bitch face on for weeks now."

Or months, maybe even years, at least as far as Rachel is concerned, but the song is building again, something slow and a little plaintive, and honestly the last thing she wants to talk about is Santana Lopez. She props up her feet next to his and enjoys the music and the warm spring evening and she can feel the tension seeping out of her face and shoulders and her back. This is the most relaxed she's been in ages and as close as they're sitting, she knows her enjoyment must be plain to see, even as night starts to fall in earnest.

"What are you doing out here?" he asks finally, a hand on the strings stilling the final notes.

That's a complicated question, but sometimes the simplest answers are the best. "I heard you playing, so I came to find you."

"Okay," he says quietly. "_Okay_."

And she watches dreamily as he leans his guitar against his chair and closes the space between them, kneeling next to her and wrapping one arm carefully around her waist to tug her forward in her seat. The other winds into her hair, urging her towards him and she yields and bends her face to his. He brushes his lips along her cheekbone and she nuzzles his nose with her own and when their lips _finally_ come together, it feels like they have all the time in the world to do this exact thing. There's nothing at all frantic or hurried about it, the way the two of them are slowly trading kisses back and forth, tongues twining, but the sensation builds in intensity until there's a steady heat burning just beneath her skin.

He groans into her mouth when she reaches around and lightly scrapes her nails along the nape of his neck and she finds herself trying to elicit that sound again, wanting to explore him in a systematic way, and her breath catches in her throat when she realizes that she wants to know his body as well as she knows his voice. So she uses hands and lips to touch him wherever she can reach and it's satisfying in a way she doesn't expect, the shiver he gives when she strokes his bicep with her fingertips or how he almost growls when she licks a delicate line along his ear.

She presses closer to him, coming out of her seat and then it's her turn to moan as her upper body slides along his; she can feel something coil between her legs, spiraling and tightening as a frisson of excitement rushes through her body. He maneuvers them both back into the grass and hovers above her, his eyes dark, one knee between her thighs and one hand sliding under her blouse, skating along her ribcage, thumb brushing the along the underside of her breast.

"_Touch me_," someone whispers and it takes Rachel a moment to realize that it's _her_, just like it's her pulling him down and parting her legs to encourage him to settle between them. He starts working the buttons of her blouse, and she helps him, fingers trembling when they brush against his. At last his mouth closes on her breast, licking and sucking through the lace of her bra before he pulls the cup aside and swirls his tongue, drawing her nipple to a tight peak. Her skirt has ridden up to god knows where, but she doesn't care, not even with the roughness of his jeans abrading the smooth skin of her inner thighs because she can _feel_ him, and she arches up with a hiss as her center comes into contact with his erection.

"Goddamn, I _want _to. Wanna touch you _everywhere_. I want to see your face when you come," he rasps and _oh god that voice;_ she rocks against him, needing to either build on the ache or relieve it altogether, she's not sure which.

"Noah," she gasps, and then clamps down on her bottom lip before she can beg him to keep _saying _things to her.

He dips his head and kisses her softly, his tongue soothing the marks her teeth left.

"Say it again," he begs. "Say my name."

"_Noah..._"

_Noah. Noah who serenaded her and kissed her and quit football for her. Noah who stood up for her at Sectionals junior year and who grabbed her helmet and asked if she was ready (and then patted her ass in the huddle later on.) Most of all, Noah who backed her in _every_ crazy song and scheme she threw his way and somehow managed to persuade her into a few of his own. _

They can't do this.

Actually, given that he's making her _crazy_ with the teasing circles his hand is tracing as it drifts up her leg and further, that his mouth seems to be intent on making breathing impossible for the time being, it seems very clear that they _absolutely _can. She just needs to be honest, to tell him the whole silly story and they can get right back to doing what they were doing.

And she will be honest with him. Just as soon as she gathers up the necessary will-power to ask him to remove his hand from her panties.  
_  
Noah who's been dumped by every girl-friend he's ever had (including her). Noah who been used for convenience and popularity and his ability to deliver orgasms on demand (_ohgodohgod, what is he doing with that finger?_) and to make other boys jealous. _

"Wait. Just...we need to stop. Please, Noah."

He freezes, stiffening in her arms. His breath is coming hard against her neck and his hand slides to grip her hip almost painfully.

"Stop like slow down, or stop like stop?" he asks.

"Stop like stop," she admits, because if she's going to get this out she needs a little distance. Now that she knows exactly how soft that scant inch of skin on his lower back just above the waistband of his jeans is, she has the almost overwhelming urge to touch it all the time.

"Right." He rolls off her, and lies flat on his back, arm flung up to cover his eyes.

She stands up, straightening clothing and combing her fingers through her hair.

"I need to explain...," she trails off, unable to figure out the best way to make this entire mess coherent, much less palatable.

"Nothing to explain," he says, pushing himself to his feet.

"There is. Noah, I want you to know that I do care about you, but..." Unfortunately '_Kurt_', '_Nationals_', and '_please ignore all that, appearances to the contrary, I actually _really_ like you, so can we do this some more_' is a lot harder to get out than she'd anticipated.

"But what? You know Rach, this is starting to feel like last month all over again, and that kinda sucks."

"Will you just _listen_?" she demands, frustrated, but he's clearly upset about something and he speaks right over her.

"And shit, I'm sorry Santana was such a bitch and I'm sorry we almost got caught, but when I saw how freaked out you looked, I did my best to throw her off. Even if...damn it Rachel, would it really have been _that_ fucking bad to let people know that you were with me?"

Wait. _What?_ She had definitely come around to the idea that Noah didn't mean his '_nobody_.' It was just something thoughtless he said because as much as she likes him, sometime he just says stupid things. The understanding that he'd said it with the intention of helping her is _new_. As is his _seriously _skewed interpretation of events.

"You know what? Don't answer that. You made things pretty damn clear when you left. And that's fine, I get it. Not that much of a change from the last three years is it? But fuck, every time I turn around lately, there you are and shit, I know you want this," he gestures sharply between the two of them. "I can _tell_, all right?"

Her mind is still in a whirl, trying to process all of this new information, but at that last comment she blushes hotly, thinking of exactly _how _he can tell.

"So I gotta wonder," he continues resentfully, "who do I have to_ be_ to get you to stay around for a while?"

Get her to stay around for a while? _Really?_

"You've got to be kidding me," she says with honest shock. It's not well-received.

"It's not all that funny, Rachel. I'm fucking_ tired_ of waiting for you to change your mind." His mouth tightens and he throws his hand up in the air. "In fact, I'm just tired. I'm out of here. See you around."

She knows that somewhere there is _exactly _the right combination of words to use. Rationalizations that will prevent him from grabbing his guitar and turning away from her and disappearing around the other side of the house. Reassurances that will make him stop short, pull his hand away from his truck door and _not_ peel away from the curb with tires squealing. She's all about words and they_ never_ let her down.

So why the _hell_ is she coming up blank now?

* * *

**A/N: Um. Don't hate me, I promise to fix it? **

** I'd love to know what you think.**


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N: As always, I can't thank you enough for your response to this story!**_

* * *

She tries to call before he's a block away and it rings twice before going to voicemail. She's pretty sure that's not because he's finally listening to her about the dangers of distracted driving. After that his phone is off for the rest of the night. Over the next several hours, she keys in seven text messages anyway, all of which she deletes before she sends them and starts three letters which she ends up ripping into tiny pieces. She checks his facebook status periodically, but it's still the same post it's been since last Tuesday: '_About fucking time the red one made it back into the rotation_' which, despite the fact that Mike '_likes_' it, doesn't actually give her any insight into what's in the world she's going to do to fix this.

Whatever _this_ is.

Sleep doesn't come easily and she wakes up at four AM in a cold sweat and breathing hard from a dream where Noah is in her bedroom trying to deliver her acceptance letter to Julliard but for some reason he can't hear her or see her. Yanking on her robe, she heads for the kitchen and starts pulling out the baking ingredients. She makes muffins because at least that's a little breakfasty and hopefully she can avoid any questions about her emotional state from her fathers. (Daddy gained five pounds the last time she broke up with Finn.) That plan might have worked better if she had refrained from making three different varieties, but never mind.

When the last batch is in the oven she grabs her phone and sends a text before she can second-guess herself. It's simple, just a request for him to call and he'll probably ignore it. Still she can't help hoping, and she she keeps checking, even when Dad frowns at her over his breakfast muffin because he hates phones at the table.

Noah doesn't call and he's not at his locker when she arrives at school, which isn't precisely surprising given that he usually rolls in sometime between homeroom and second period. She gets his locker combination from Principal Figgins' secretary (the woman stopped arguing with her _years _ago) and leaves the box of muffins in there. She doesn't leave a note.

Mike informs her (after some fairly direct questioning) that Noah isn't in Spanish. She catches a glimpse of a broad set of shoulders at the end of the science wing, but it turns out to be Nate Johnson, a thoroughly inoffensive lacrosse-player, who backs into a locker when she glares at him. Whoops.

It's not until she's standing in the middle of the cafeteria staring at his empty seat that she starts getting seriously worried. Monday is corn-dog day and Noah_ never_ misses corn-dog day. What if he's sick? What if he was involved in some sort of traffic accident last night that somehow went unreported? What if he got drunk at that bar at the edge of town (the one that serves him even though his fake ID claims that he's a 37 year-old Chinese man) and accidentally leaked their set list and is too ashamed to come to school?

"Rachel!" Kurt squeals, rushing up to her and making her jump, "I've been looking for you everywhere! GLAM! Now!" He clamps a hand on her wrist and tugs her into the nearest girls bathroom. Chasing a pair of confused sophomores out with a wave and a quick apology, he turns back to her with a deep breath. "You did it! I knew this was a brilliant idea! I can't believe you didn't call me. Here, let me look at you." He takes a step back and looks at her critically. "Goodness, you _didn't_ get much sleep last night, did you? _Ooooh! _ I like the sweater though. Is it 100% cashmere?"

"Kurt, what are you talking about?" she asks, totally bewildered.

"You're absolutely right. The sweater is nice even if I might have gone with a more saturated hue, but let's stick to the _essentials_. Was he _amazing_? Tell me he was amazing!"

"What?...Who?" she splutters.

"Puck of course! I have to admit, I was a little surprised to find you in the cafeteria instead of melting into a puddle on the auditorium floor." He shivers. "I've_ never_ heard him sound like that."

"Noah is in the auditorium?"

Kurt stares. "Mr. Schuester gave him a pass. He's been there all morning. Didn't you know?"

"I...no...is he all right?" she asks stupidly.

"Yeeeess," Kurt draws out slowly. "I mean I had assumed that...never mind. You've got to hear this."

The two of them slip silently into the back row of the darkened theater and her breath catches when she sees Noah on the stage with his back to her, talking with Brad and the rest of the band.

"One more run through?" he asks, and in response the musicians strike up a familiar melody.

He steps out into the center of the spotlight, counts out the time and opens into _Let It Be Me_. And it's perfect. His voice is clear and melodic and filled with something strong. Not happiness, perhaps, there's too much of an edge for that, but it's clear he's tapped into some kind of source. That and the emotive power of the music grabs her and won't let her go. _This._ She recognizes this. This is what you do when you allow every ounce of hurt and confusion and longing to be peeled bare, and then you throw it out at the audience and hope that they see you.

It's extraordinary, but intensely personal, and part of her feels like watching this performance when he doesn't know she's there is a little too close to eavesdropping,

Noah finishes on a note like a growl and as the sound dies, the band breaks out into applause and even Brad is nodding in approval as they move off-stage to make a few notations on the master score.

There's a long pause which Rachel spends trying to convince her heart to stop trying to burst out of her ribcage and then Kurt turns to her and says hesitantly, "Rachel, you can't tell me that isn't about the two of you."

She stares at the half-moons her nails have dug into her palms and doesn't know how to answer. About the two of them? In the original sense that she and Kurt hatched this crazy scheme, clearly not. But conversely, there's no way she can watch that performance and not be reminded of a boy sitting on the bleachers shrugging her hand off his shoulder because he wants something too much. The same boy who seemed to be saying last night that what he wanted was her. She avoids Kurt's eyes as she stands to leave. "It might be. I'll see you this afternoon."

"Bye now," he hums absently as he slides his notebook out of his bag, "I'll need some time to rework my theories in light of new information, anyway."

* * *

It may take a few hours to get her point across, but by the time the final costume fittings roll around at the end of the day, Kurt finally accepts that he's not getting anything out of her beyond '_it's complicated.' _He looks like he's making a few assumptions anyway. She doesn't know why he's even interested. Whatever the cause of Noah's problems with the song, they certainly don't apply any more: he's never sounded better.

(She can't help wondering what Kurt's response is going to be be if she goes and messes it all up.)

"That hem looks straight to me." Rachel twists a little to look down at Kurt from the step-bench she's currently standing on. "And why are we doing this fitting in the choir room rather than the dressing room?"

"There's just a few loose threads in the back to tidy up," he mumbles through a mouthful of pins. "And the dressing room is full. Now stop moving. I'm sure this won't take more than a few minutes."

Rachel huffs. Loose threads! She did that hem herself!

When the door opens and Noah walks in, Kurt's choice of locale makes a lot more sense. But what in the world is he up to?

Noah's eyes flash up to hers briefly and she can see his grip on the neck of his guitar tighten, but his voice is casual. "Uh, hey. I signed up for the room, but I can come back later."

"No..." she says quickly, but Kurt interrupts her.

"No need! We're just finishing up here." He leans in to brush an imaginary speck of dust from her shoulder and whispers in her ear, "Piecing together all the evidence, I'm going to guess that you've got some bizarre honesty kick going, and it's admirable, really it is, but try to remember, if you tell Puck about _this_, he will _kill_ me."

"Tell him what?" Rachel hisses back. "Kurt, what are you doing?"

"You can step down now Rachel, I'm all done here," Kurt chirps loudly, giving her his hand for balance as she steps down. As soon as her foot touches the floor she feels a sharp stabbing pain in the fleshy part of her hip. She lets out a piercing shriek as Kurt whips his other hand behind his back. A pin! He stabbed her with a pin!

"That hurt!" she belts out indignantly only to find Noah's hand at her elbow.

"What happened?" he asks anxiously, leaning in close enough for her to smell his cologne; it's either that or his breath stirring along her cheek that makes her sway and his grip tightens on her arm.

"Her foot! I think she came down wrong on it," Kurt says firmly.

Her eyes narrow and she's almost resolved to abandon him to his fate, but Noah wraps his arm around her waist, trying to support her weight which is more than enough to make her forget why she's angry for a moment.

"Here, sit down," he says, leading her to a chair and easing her into it. "Which foot?" he asks, kneeling by her side. And _god_, all she can think about is last night, and her eyes flutter closed for a second.

"Right foot," Kurt interjects.

"Okay," Noah says calmly, pulling the step-stool over and carefully lifting her right leg onto it. "Let's elevate it. Still hurt, Rach?"

"Sort of a stabbing pain," she mutters darkly, taking a little pleasure in watching Kurt flinch.

"Sweetie, I'm going to run and get some ice," he says nervously, backing towards the door, "I think the nurse is on her break though, so I may be a while."  
_  
Smooth, Kurt. Very smooth_.

She looks down to see if Noah's noticed, but he's not looking at Kurt, instead, his dark head is bent next to her, looking down. She wants to run her hand across his scalp and feel his short hair tickle her palm; it's almost irresistible because now she knows how much he likes the sensation, and the sounds he makes when she does it. Instead she just watches him as he slides her ballet flat off carefully.

"Is it your ankle?" he asks and she replies with a little indeterminate hum. His fingers are warm on her skin as he gently checks for swelling. "It looks good. I'm going to try to move it a little." One hand travels up her calf, while the other cups the ball of her foot and rotates it in a few small circles.

"That okay?" he asks.

"Uh-huh," she breathes, and he nods and slowly pushes her toes back into a flex and then to a point, his other hand inching up her calf another fraction of an inch, brushing the underside of her knee as he supports her leg.

"How 'bout that?"

"It's fine," she says in a strangled tone, somehow resisting the urge to push his hand a little (or a lot) higher.

"I heard you yell Rachel," he frowns. "Something hurt."

"It's...it's better now," she casts around in her mind for some sort of excuse to save Kurt's butt. "Maybe it was a cramp."

"Yeah?" He moves slowly, _so slowly_, to rub her calf, thumbs digging into the muscle, and then his fingertips spreading out the gentle pressure along her skin. "How's that?"

_Soooo good_, but then this part was _always_ good. It's always been other people that got in the way, and now they don't even have that excuse.

"Noah, we need to talk about..." It's incredibly hard to concentrate with his hands on her, but there's no way she's going to ask him to stop. Stopping would be a bad thing. "_Ummm,_ that's...you've clearly misinterpreted some things and it seems...it seems that I may have as well and..."

"I was going to call you," he interrupts, continuing to move along her leg, touching the hem of her skirt, dipping just an inch beneath it before retreating. "I got the text, but I dunno, I kind of got caught up with a music thing."

"I know, I heard you," she admits, "You were wonderful."

He looks up at her, his eyes bright green and with a shaking hand, she reaches out to cup his cheekbone. He turns into it and she feels his lips brush against her palm (and his hand move halfway up her thigh) and suddenly she's filled with confidence. They can figure this out. Then without warning, he stiffens, his eyes focused over her shoulder, his hands tightening on her and she turns to follow his gaze.  
_  
Oh no._

"William, as I was telling you, Sue's latest antics..._Children! _ What in the name of William McKinley is going on here!

* * *

"And that's when Kurt left to get the ice, Mr. Schuester," Rachel says for what must be the tenth time.

"Puck?" the teacher looks for confirmation.

"What she said." Noah is sprawled out moodily in his chair, arms crossed, and as as much as she likes him, she wants to screech in annoyance, because he is absolutely not helping her to sell this performance.

"And where was this injury?"

"As I've told you before, my foot," she says tightly, pointing down.

Noah's lips twitch. '_Other foot_,' he mouths to her and she glares at him before following his direction.

"And Puck was just...?"

"Assessing my injury," she says from between gritted teeth. "So can we leave now, Mr. Schuester? I do have a lot of homework and as you know, growing young people need plenty of rest and I for one would hate to think that I wasn't at my best at Nationals because of an easily resolved situation like this."

"Well, let's just check in with Principal Figgins," Mr. Schuester says uncertainly, just as the administrator walks back in to the room.

When she repeats her request, Figgins fixes her with a stern eye.

"Miss Berry! Over the past four years, you have threatened legal action against this school district no fewer than nineteen times. When the school couldn't afford to provide a bus for your handi-capable friend, you gave the ACLU my home phone number. Two and a half years later and they are still calling about a donation! We are taking no chances with you. I have already contacted emergency services and the paramedics will be here in a few minutes. When they arrive, you will accompany them to the emergency room where you will receive a thorough examination. My decision is final!"

Rachel can feel her eyes fill with tears that are, for once, largely unfaked. She's stressed and exhausted and all she wants to do is crawl into bed (preferably with Noah) and pull the covers over her head until Nationals.

Noah takes one look at her and swears under his breath. "I'm going with her," he says flatly.

Oh no, Mr. Puckerman, you will do no such thing. If anything, you've caused even more headaches than Miss Berry. Over the past four years, you have been responsible for a dozen trips to the emergency room. Only five of them involved yourself. I intend to investigate your part in this situation myself. You can accompany me to my office now. Your mother is already on her way.

* * *

Seven hours later, she's kicking her legs back and forth from her perch on the edge of a hospital bed, smiling brightly at Kurt, who looks a little frightened.

As he should.

"Kurt, do you have any idea how long it takes the ER to even examine a completely uninjured person? Add to that the fact that I've been in x-ray for the last hour, and additionally that I've signed so many disclaimers, my hand is cramping. You owe me and you owe me big."

* * *

_**A/N: Another cliff-hanger; I only hope this one isn't as painful as the last one! Feedback is always appreciated.**_


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: As always, thank you to all my wonderful readers and reviewers. This hopefully will provide_ some_ of the resolution that you've been looking for! **

**Full disclosure here: I've spent the latter half of this week sick and this was written under the influence of copious amounts of cold medicine, so I'm not entirely sure about my proof-reading. Let me know if you find anything particularly egregious. **

* * *

Rachel fluffs the pillows under her covers into what hopefully looks like a Rachel-shape and then checks her reflection in the mirror one last time. She always likes to dress appropriately, and the black top, dark jeans, even those ridiculous black canvas sneakers that Mr. Schuester insists on _do_ work for a role she's never played before: the rebellious girl sneaking out of the house on a school night. Twitching the deep vee of the neckline an inch lower and then half an inch higher, she bites her lip and it's almost enough to make her decide to change again, but Kurt's plaintive voice coming from the lawn below her second-story bedroom serves to convince her that that's not a good idea.

"How long are you going to keep me waiting? It's dark out here and frankly, it should go without saying that I have no interest in playing Romeo to your Juliet. If this is your idea of a practical joke..."

Sticking her head out the window, she shushes him before whispering back. "You do remember today don't you? I just need this one last favor Kurt, just one little _tiny_ ride, and then we'll be even." She drops her portable emergency fire escape ladder out the window, narrowly avoiding Kurt's head. "Oops! Sorry!"

Kurt starts saying something and all she catches is '_even? you have no idea_' but she by the time she's clambered down, narrowly missing Daddy's begonias, he's already moved on.

"All right Rachel, while some would argue that it's your own fault for threatening Figgins with legal action at every turn, I will admit that I may be _partially_ responsible for your trip to the emergency room. So yes, technically, I owe you. But sneaking out of _my_ house in the middle of the night so that I can sneak _you_ out of _your_ house and drive you across town seems excessive. _Why_ the middle of the night? _Why_ aren't you driving yourself to Puck's place?"

_Is she that obvious?_

"My dads have been fussing over me since we got home from the hospital. I've got more ice-packs, hot water bottles, and grape-flavored Children's Tylenol than I know what to do with and they've only just now gone to sleep. As for driving myself, the garage door opener makes a terrible racket. And anyway, who said we were going to Noah's?"

"Oh please. If we're not headed over to Puckerman's house right now, I'll audition for '_Deer Camp: The Musical_.'

_Wonderful. Apparently she is _exactly_ that obvious. _

"You should. You look very nice in plaid," she says sweetly and he sticks his tongue out at her.

Forty-five minutes later, as they slowly cruise the side-streets of Lima, they're still bickering.

"I'm sure it's Maple-_something_! I thought you said this gas-guzzling monster had a GPS unit!"

"GPS only works if you have an _address_! We've been to Maplehurst, Maple Tree Place, now we're on Maple Heights! What's next? Maple Syrup?" Kurt snarls. "How do you _not_ know where he lives?"

"I've only been there twice! Once was when I was six and all I remember is that he refused to play Broadway Barbies with me and tore the head off my Bernadette Peters doll. I was devastated."

"And the other time?"

Rachel blushes, glad that Kurt can't see her face. "Filming _Run Joey Run_. It was two years ago! And besides, I was...a little distracted. _Wait!_ Pull over!" As he pulls to the curb, she stares hard at number seventeen. No lights are on, but between the moonlight and streetlight, the gray clapboards and black shutters look familiar and _there_! Isn't that Noah's truck almost hidden in a spot on the far side of the one-car garage? "That's it! I know it!"

"All right," Kurt sighs, "What now?"

Rachel points to the tree growing next to the window that she's almost 100% sure is Noah's. "Now, I'm going to need a boost."

It's not until she's edging along a tree branch twelve feet off the ground that she really starts thinking about all the things that are wrong with '_almost 100% sure_'. With the luck she's been having this will inevitably end up being his sister's room or his mother's. Or possibly she's gotten the whole house wrong and she's end up knocking on Rabbi Wiseman's window. Or she'll be arrested for burglary, or...

"_Fuck_, Rachel! What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?" Noah's familiar voice hisses out of the window.

...Or maybe he just won't be happy to see her at all.

She wobbles a little bit and her grip on the branch tightens and the ground looks really _really_ far away.

"_Rachel..._," Kurt calls out nervously from below.

"Shut it, Hummel," Noah snaps. "Rach. Look at me."

She does. He's leaning out now, one hand on the sill, one hand stretched towards her and her stomach swoops, mostly because she's scared, but also because he's shirtless and she thinks she's probably just lost a few IQ points simply by staring.

"Okay, so come out a few more inches...good...can you get your foot on the ledge now? Careful, the asphalt's rough." She follows his directions until she's close enough for him to get a good grip on her, and then he's half-guiding, half-yanking her in though the opening and she's much too relieved to not be falling out of that wretched tree to be upset that he was somewhat rough.

Additionally, she's currently on the floor, sprawled out on top of him. That might account for it too.

He's still got one arm tightly wrapped around her, and she's got a leg thrown over his and she can feel the rumble of his chest when he says, "You scared the shit out of me."

"Sorry," she replies sheepishly, trying to figure out how to move off of him. Her brain/body coordination is not helped at all by the fact that her hand is clutching his bicep (always a weakness of hers) and that he smells _soooo_ good and also that he doesn't seem to have any interest in letting her go.

"Hummel's not coming up is he?" he asks in her ear.

"No, but I should probably let him know I'm okay." She squirms off, ignoring his groan (with difficulty) and leans out the window to speak in a carrying undertone. "Kurt, I'm all set now. Thank you!" She ends on a bit of a squeak, because Noah's up on his feet behind her and he tucks his hand firmly into the waistband of her jeans, anchoring her.

Kurt throws his arms up into the air and says sourly, "Excellent. As long as there's nothing else, I suppose I can go home and get my beauty sleep now. But seriously, don't hesitate to call if you need anything. After all, my life revolves around driving you around in the middle of the night."

"Put your bitch-face away Kurt, she's safe and sound. I've got her from here," Noah calls out, leaning into her so that she can feel the heat of his chest all along her back.

Kurt retreats to his car and Noah tugs her back from the window before gesturing to his desk chair. "Sit down if you want." She does want, her legs still feel a little wobbly and she sinks into it gratefully as he crosses to the bed and sits on the edge. She's probably-no scratch that-she's _definitely_ staring inappropriately but it's ridiculously difficult to drag her eyes away from the hard planes of his chest or those little muscles lower down that disappear into the waistband of his basketball shorts and she can only hope it's dark enough in the room to hide the blush that's creeping over her face.

"Little late for a social call babe, but I can put more clothes on if you want," he says evenly.

So _no_, not dark enough, and her cheeks burn a little hotter as she blurts out, "No! Or I mean...if you'd be more comfortable go right ahead, but since I..._um_...invited myself over I'm hardly in any position to dictate..."

He shrugs. "Honestly, you're lucky I'm wearing as much as I am. So what are you doing here Rachel?"

She doesn't answer for a second because she's still trying to wrap her head around the concept of '_lucky_' and he makes an impatient noise before pressing his lips together and looking out the window, at the floor, _anywhere_ but at her. Obscurely, that kind of hurts, but somehow it also make it easier to start.

"Noah, I've wanted to talk to you all day. Since last night actually. You left so abruptly and some of the things you said about your take on Brittany's party..."

"I said a lot of shit last night," he interrupts. "It's over and done with."

"I don't think it is. You don't understand. I left that night because I...I was under the impression that you weren't interested."

He looks at her blankly. "Shit Rach, I know you don't have a ton of experience, not that that's a problem _at all_, but _fuck,_ it had to have been pretty damn obvious that I was interested."

Her mouth goes completely dry and she suddenly finds the sight of her hands twisting together in her lap totally engrossing. "I knew, obviously, that you were interested in general. That was impossible to miss. I thought...At the time, I got the impression from what you said to Santana that what you _weren't_ particularly interested in was me. That's why I went home." And then spent better part of three days in bed writing ballads on the subject of unrequited love, but that last part is probably best left unsaid.

After a _looooong_ beat, she forces herself to look up with her heart lodged uncomfortably in her throat and watches him obviously replay the conversation in his head. And then: "You're fucking crazy, you know that?"

_Hmmph. _ Suddenly, falling from that tree seems like it might have been the better option. Or better yet just pushing _him_ out the window.

"I'm not sure that questioning my mental health is at all helpful in this situation," she glares.

He chokes back a laugh. "No really," he says, standing up and crossing to her seat. "I've gotta ask, because what the hell?" He grabs her hand and pulls her up against him and then he's kissing the breath out of her. Her arms wrap automatically around his neck and she presses herself tightly against him, thoroughly enjoying the sensation of his lips moving against her own. His hands are roaming, brushing lightly against her hip, her waist, the curve of her ass and then back again and they're definitely not putting out any of the fires his mouth seems to be starting under her skin.

(Under the circumstances, it's hard to maintain her indignation.)

Finally he tears his mouth away from hers and brushes her ear with his lips. "It's just crazy because I've been waiting around for a while," he whispers so quietly that she can barely make out the words and she'd like to ask for how long exactly, but he's kissing her again and walking backwards with her to his bed, so it kind of flies out of her mind.

He sits up along the headboard and pulls her in between his legs and they make out for a while, kissing back and forth, his fingertips traveling up her sides to graze the line of her spine, then carefully comb through her hair. He doesn't push any further and she's torn between disappointment and relief because while it seems clear that they've got a lot of wasted time to make up for, there's still one more hurdle to clear.

Gently, she pulls back and he groans, "Don't go," into the crook of her neck.

"I'm not going anywhere," she assures him, rolling onto her knees so that she's looking at him straight on. "It's just...there's one more thing."

He rolls his eyes. "Does this have to do with whatever the fuck you've had going with Kurt all week? Don't even try to tell me that he's not all up in our love-life for some reason. He's about as subtle as a sledgehammer."

She winces. "Kurt does play a role, yes. You know that Kurt and I take our responsibilities as co-captains very seriously, right?" She waits for his nod and then continues, "He came to me with a concern about you last week. A concern that he seemed to think I could help you with." She goes from there to lay out the entire plan from start to finish, glossing over a few of the finer details (the texting thing is still a little embarrassing and she probably does owe it to Kurt to keep quiet about the straight pin) but essentially laying everything else on the line.

He listens quietly to every word and when she's finished she watches his face anxiously because some strong emotion definitely seems to be at work.

"Is that it? Anything else, Rach?" he says in a curiously choked voice.

She nods, biting her lip, awaiting his response.

The laughter that follows is not at all what she expected. He's almost howling and she has to stuff a pillow into his face to muffle his noise and given how nervous she was about this whole confession, it's not surprising that she holds it a little more firmly that she has to. He finally calms down a little and pulls back, gasping, "I'm good, I'm good," only to take one look at the expression on her face (which she assumes is frank astonishment) and start off again and it's a couple minutes before he can get himself under control.

At last he seems to notice that she's moved from disbelief to irritation and wrapping an arm tightly around her, he says, "Sorry baby, sorry. But fuck, did _you _even buy that? I mean, shit I've known you for a long time and you'd do a lot to win Nationals. Tears, threats, maybe even an in-active crack-house, sure. But there is no way you're going to give it up to win a singing competition."

"Weren't you listening?" she asks, confused and a little horrified by the thought that she's going to have to explain the whole thing again. "That was the entire scheme from start to finish!"

He fixes her with a wicked smile and rolls them both so that he's on top of her. "Nope." he says simply.

"No?" she asks breathlessly as he dips his head to kiss the exposed skin at her neckline and then moves down.

"Wanna know what I heard?" he asks, inching her shirt up and stroking the exposed sliver of skin above her waistband. "I heard about a girl who learned all this shit about baseball to impress this guy."

"You did? That's all still stuck in my head you know," she says, arching up when he licks a circle around her belly-button and then blows a thin stream of air on the wet skin.

"I'll take you to a game this summer. I probably own you one for making you wait so long in the parking lot last Wednesday after practice. You looked awfully flushed. We're you thinking about me?" His hands move to the button of her jeans and he looks at her for permission.

She lifts her hips in response, and he works the zipper slowly and then drags the jeans down her legs and off. "I _was_ thinking about you," she confesses, "About the party. About the way you touched me."

"Like this?" he asks innocently, bringing one hand up to her face to brush her mouth with his thumb, while the other hand hovers just above the apex of her thighs.

"Don't tease, Noah!"

"Like this then?" he ghosts along the front of her panties, just tracing the outline of her slit through the fabric and circling her clit once and then when she lets out a tiny whine, again. "You teased the fuck out of me you know. Remember those stretches? I had to leave or the two of us would have been putting on a performance on that stage right there and then. You've had me wound up in knots all week. Hell, all month."

"I didn't know." She lets her thighs part as he settles more fully between them and reaches down to caress his short hair, enjoying the prickling sensation along her palm and his rough exhale when she pushes him a little lower.

"You would have if everyone in the universe hadn't been in the fucking way," he mutters, running one finger under the elastic of her panties in a way that makes her squirm. "Gonna take these off, okay?"

"_Mmmm yes_," she agrees, throwing her head back when his fingernails gently scrape down her legs the entire way down. "Noah, I wanted everyone to disappear. Your mother, Principal Figgins, Tina, even Kurt..._Ow_!" She gasps as he bites the skin above her hipbone just a shade too hard and pouts down at him.

He soothes the spot with his tongue and then looks up, staring hotly. "Baby, don't talk about them when I'm about to go down on you. You want that, right? My mouth on you? Bet you taste so good, I'm never going to want to stop." She bucks up into him and he bites the crease of her leg and nudges his nose along the narrow strip of trimmed hair covering her pussy. "Talk to me, Rach. Just tell me and you'll get it."

"Oh god!" She's hot and cold _everywhere_ and she's sure he can feel the rush of wetness with the hand that's slipped between her legs. "I want that, Noah!"

He groans and pushes her thighs up and out, and the small burn in the muscles, is nothing compared to the sensation of being totally opened to him. From there it's just a rush of heat and pressure. Noah, licking a broad stripe up her slit and then darting to dip inside her. Up to suck gently on her bud and then back to swirl around her entrance and then back, while she covers her mouth with her arm to hold back the sounds that he's pulling from her.

He's just _so good _at this, he's winding her up, making it build, until she thinks she's going to sob with relief when he introduces first one finger, then two, thrusting then gently curling. His thumb moves to her clit and he moves back up her body, kissing her hard. She sucks his tongue into her mouth lightly, tasting herself on him.

Pulling back he smirks, "It's good, right?"

He looks entirely too satisfied with himself, so she slips one hand into his basketball shorts and totally unsurprised to find him sans-boxers, wraps her fingers along his length.

"Good? Like that?" she purrs, moving back and forth in long strokes, rubbing her thumb along the head, catching the drop of moisture and spreading it around. But then he's circling her clit again, fingers moving in and out of her a little harder and she can barely think, much less keep up.

Her hips lift off the bed to meet him and he's breathing in her ear. "Fuck. _So good._ Just come for me Rachel, come all over my fingers. I want to watch you let go." She moans, tightening around him and he thrusts into her hand, "And then, shit. I'm so fucking hard, I'm going to explode. That's all you. That's what you do to me."

And that's it. She's biting her lip hard as she releases, the vibrations shaking her entire body and he's just behind her, spurting hotly against her hand.

They both breathe hard for a moment and it's almost awkward for a moment when he snags a few tissues and wipes her sticky fingers.

Then he looks at her. "Beautiful. Just like I thought." She buries her face in his shoulder and he's holding her so tightly it's almost hard to breath.

They stay just like that for a long time and all Rachel feels is boneless contentment because there's nothing else, not family, not peers, not even Nationals in this little cocoon. Finally he reaches for his phone on the bedside table and starts pushing buttons. She looks at him questioningly.

"Just setting the alarm, baby. I figure we can sleep for an hour and then we've got to figure out how to sneak you back into your house."

"I've got a ladder," she admits.

He chuckles. "Handy. Can't have my girl getting grounded." Replacing the phone, he scrunches down in the bed, and wraps himself completely around her.

When she falls asleep a few minutes later she still smiling about the words '_my girl_.'

* * *

**A/N: We're very close to the end. I anticipate one epilogue chapter to wrap up the loose ends and that should be it! Liked it? Hated it? I'd love to know!**


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: So this is the end and I can't thank you enough for all the love. You all are a pleasure to write for!**

* * *

He finds someplace for them to be alone together and it doesn't even _surprise_ her because he's Noah Puckerman, so of course within three hours of arriving at the theater on Saturday, he'd be able to navigate the bustle of a dozen or so teams backstage and lead her to this unused and slightly dusty dressing room on the far side of the building. In a distant corner of her mind she suspects he probably bribed or charmed the stage manager into providing the key, but she doesn't really care. Mr. Schuester most likely thinks they're at lunch with everyone else, (admittedly the part where she_ told_ him that they'd be at lunch with everyone makes that almost a certainty) and she should feel guilty about telling an outright lie, but no, that's not even on her radar.

At this exact moment in time, she cares about two things: the stage where in a few hours her team will be _kicking ass and taking names_ and the boy who's currently brushing his lips along her ear while insinuating one hand underneath her blouse. And lucky her, those two things aren't even remotely in opposition.

"You nervous baby? Got butterflies? Because I can help with that," he whispers, the words vibrating against her skin, sending a pleasurable thrill down her spine.

_Yes_. Yes to everything, to the nerves and the butterflies that are never absent when she's about to perform. And _yes_ to the fingers making warm circles on bare skin and the hard press of his thigh in between her legs.

Honestly, there's no question that as far as relaxation techniques go, this is going to _destroy_ visualization and deep breathing exercises.

He takes her moan for the affirmative that it was meant to be and nibbles a gentle trail down the the curve of her shoulder, while she works the buttons of his shirt and then tugs it off, exposing his hard arms and chest. Smiling, she takes a moment to appreciate the view, eyes only darting up when he laughs.

"I can't help it," she fake-pouts, stepping backwards. "You're gorgeous."

"I'm hot," he corrects. "You on the other hand? Gorgeous. _This_ is gorgeous." He advances and cards one hand delicately through her hair before cradling the base of the skull and pulling her in for an quick kiss. Then he smiles wickedly. "Especially spread out across my pillow."

"Well, since I worked hard enough to get there, it's certainly a relief to know you enjoyed it." She's definitely teasing him here, because they may have only been together for a few days, a few _busy _days full of packing and rehearsals and stolen moments in the hotel corridors between room checks, but she's already figured out that any reference to the lengths she went to in order to be with him drives him absolutely wild. Admittedly, bringing it up still makes her blush a little, but the results? Totally worth it.

_Like now._

His eyes darken and he grabs the hem of her blouse and smoothly pulls it over her head and then his mouth follows and burns all along her exposed skin, while his fingers dig into her hips. She has to clutch his shoulders for balance because her knees are weak but the damp ache centered between her thighs is an incredible motivator. Looking around wildly, she sees a small sofa wedged into the corner and it gives her _ideas_.

She pulls him up so she can fasten her mouth to his, kissing him hard, and then sliding one hand along the front of his pants, she traces his rigid length, enjoying the groan she pulls from deep in his throat. Working his button and zipper carefully, she slips her hand inside, enjoying contrast of hard and smooth, stroking once, then again while he buries his face into neck and breathes out her name. Taking advantage of his distraction, she guides him backwards, pressing him down into a seated position on the sofa and when he chases her with his hands she shakes her head laughingly and steps back.

He up looks at her with half-lidded eyes. "I thought I was planning on relaxing you."

"You will," she promises, flicking the clasp on her bra and letting it fall to the floor. Another minute and her her skirt slides down to pool at her feet and she's standing in front of him in a scrap of lace underwear that along with a few other items that she fervently hopes will make his mouth fall open, formed the basis of a last-minute trip to Victoria's Secret.

"Shit Rach, this works too," he groans, lifting his hips so he can shove his pants down around his knees and palm his cock, while she watches breathlessly.

This won't the first time they've actually had sex; he'd sneaked into her room on Wednesday night while she was trying to pack and made her see stars on top of the neatly folded piles of clothes she had spread all over her bed. (And then kept kissing her and tickling her and making her giggle when she insisted he help her repack.) And last night they'd slipped away while the group was at the hotel pool; he'd wedged the door of the changing room shut and then pressed into her against the wall while she bit into his shoulder to keep from screaming out his name. And while she enjoyed those experiences _immensely_, he was definitely the creative force behind them and right now she's in the mood for something a little more _take-charge_.

She nudges his knees apart and steps between them.

"Do you want to take these off?" she asks softly, hooking one finger under the material at her hip.

His eyes close briefly and she can see him swallow and then he reaches for her, hands skating up her legs, tracing the edging of lace along the crease of her thigh.

"These is pretty," he says thickly, rubbing the material between his fingers and then dragging her panties down her thighs. "But like I said before,_ this_ is gorgeous." He presses a kiss just below her belly-button and another, lower down and the sound that comes out of her throat is halfway between a sigh and a moan. She's fairly certain her legs are going to give out, so before that happens she straddles his knees. Reaching down, she finds his wallet and the condom she knows he's keeping in there, (she's safe, he's safer) and with her forehead to Noah's, they both watch as she carefully smooths it on.

"So fucking hot, baby," he murmurs against her skin, dipping his head to take one nipple into his mouth, sucking and nibbling as she arches against him. She groans and moves closer, sliding her hips against him, letting his cock bump against her clit and then drag along her slit and then back again and again, until they're both half out of their heads with it. And when she's aching and ready and he's straining against her, she pushes up and then sinks back down on him, letting him fill her completely.

It's _perfectperfectperfect_, exactly what she _needs,_ and she has to fight not to dig her nails into his skin when he hisses out her name.

Hands trembling, fluttering from his shoulders down to his arms and then back again, she works to find the measured rhythm she wants. She rolls forward to grind on the upthrusts and her thighs tremble at the effort needed to keep her movements slow and steady and everything is heat and slickness and the drumbeat building between them. One of his hands drift lower and ghosts over her clit, rubbing a series of teasing circles so insubstantial they barely exist.

Gasping out "_harder_," she covers his hand with hers, directing his movements and demanding more pressure.

"Keep touching yourself," he says hoarsely before sliding his hand away and then gripping her hips, surging beneath her, moving her up and down in fierce thrusts.

"Love this," she keens, feeling the first ripples of her climax. "So good!"

"_Fuck_," he grunts, slamming up into her. "Always wanted this. Always wanted you."

She buries her face into his neck and lets go with his name, pulsing around him and he's following with whispered, half-heard promises against her hair.

* * *

There are things like costumes and sound checks and warm-ups to worry about, but even given all that, it takes them both a long time to move. With his warm hands stroking her back lazily, she's not sure that she even wants to.

But on the other hand, she doesn't think she's _ever_ felt more like singing than she does right now.

* * *

"All right, ten minutes people!" Kurt crosses the stage behind the closed curtain with clipboard in hand. "Finn, if you touch Brad's score again, I won't be responsible for his actions. Brittany, spit that gum out...no! Not there! Sam, I swear if you don't un-pop that collar right now, there will be blood. Or just me yelling at you. Either way...!"

New Directions scatters in obedience to Kurt's commands, except for the two dark heads bent together in quiet conversation center-stage. With Rachel leaning into Puck and one of his hands spread out along the small of her back, it's an intimate picture, but one that the members of New Directions have quickly become accustomed to over the last week, with varying degrees of approval, confusion, and in his own case, outright exultation.

Watching the two of them fills him with a deep sense of satisfaction that stems from a job well done and there's only one conclusion that Kurt Hummel can come to: he is an absolute _genius_.

He'd take more time to appreciate the appealing picture the two of them make, (and applaud his own brilliance) but the sound of his father's voice calling his name from the wings shakes him out of his reverie and he hurries over.

"Dad, what are you doing back here? Shouldn't you be in your seat?"

"Carole's saving my spot," Burt says, tugging uncomfortably on his tie. "I just thought I'd tell you to, what is it? Break a leg, right? I know you guys have worked hard to get here and I wanted to make sure you know I'm proud of you."

Kurt pulls his dad into a hug because some things (admittedly very, _very_ few things) are worth the chance of a wrinkle on this jacket. When they pull back, Burt looks over his shoulder and Kurt can see confusion settling over his features.

"Hey, isn't that the Puckerman kid? And _Rachel_?"

Kurt turns to find the two of them still linked together in a loose embrace, beautifully lit by the warm amber glow of a single pin light, because even subconsciously, Rachel is _always_ going to know how to set a scene. (It's one of his favorite things about her.)

"Absolutely." And thankfully for his sanity's sake, not a moment too soon.

"Is, uh, your brother_ okay_ with that?" Burt asks hesitantly.

Kurt waves this off. "Finn? Not to worry. That ship has sailed, landed and gone into dry-docks to have the barnacles scraped off."

"Carole was saying something like that. Still, I never would have put those two together."

"Mmmm. I admit on the surface they may not be the obvious choice, but they're actually kind of perfect together."

Burt shakes his head wryly. "I recognize that tone, Kurt. Did you have something to do with this?"

Something to do with it? Only if his Dad means planning _the entire thing_ from start to finish when it became completely obvious that the two of them weren't going to be able to come back from whatever ridiculous misunderstanding had derailed them from what Kurt has long considered their _inevitable_ reunion.

"Maybe," he replies circumspectly.

"You know, your mom was a romantic too."

Kurt smiles, "I remember. Now you should get to your seat and I should inform those two that we're on in five minutes."

* * *

Rachel smiles up at Noah as she straightens his tie. "There. Perfect. "

Noah smirks and wraps his arms a little more tightly around her. "Always was, baby. I just hid it well."

"Oh, you had your moments," she saying rolling her eyes at him, while at the same time leaning a little closer.

He shrugs and says quietly, "The good ones were all with you."

_Oh my. _

She breathes in sharply, eyes zeroing in on his mouth. "Kurt will kill me if I smudge my lipstick...," she says regretfully.

"It's kiss-proof!" Kurt chirps over her shoulder. "I bought it specially." He watches the two of them benevolently, obviously waiting. "Well? What are you waiting for? Curtain's about to go up."

"Yeah, we got it from here, Hummel," Noah laughs.

Kurt mutters sotto voce, "Right. _Now_ the two of you can do it all on your own."

Rachel blows a kiss to him as he turns to leave. "Thanks for everything, Kurt. You've been wonderful."

He smiles and waggles his fingers and Rachel assumes that he's heading over to his stage mark, but of course it's impossible to tell, because she's got goosebumps all up and down her arms and there's a rushing noise in her ears because her heart is beating a thousand times a minute, and it seems quite likely that the only thing keeping her standing is Noah. It seems ridiculous, this out-sized reaction to a single (_perfect, passionate, amazing_) kiss.

A minute later, when the curtain rises and the music swells and New Directions lifts its collective voice and she can still feel the sensation down to the tips of her fingers and toes, she realizes that she never wants it to go away.

And that night, when the winner is announced and the first person to reach her is _him_ as the rest of them try to hoist a trophy bigger than she is into the air, she thinks that he feels the same way.

* * *

**A/N: Again, thank you all so much! Your feedback is much appreciated. :)**


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